But this is not a post about a house. The house got sold eventually, and just before the sale was final I drove up there with my then-friend (later second husband), Ron, to remove a few last things and close the place up.
The 52 acres included an enormous pine woods, its tall trees planted in precisely regimented rows in the ‘30s as a WPA project (or so a neighbor told us). It was a glorious summer day, and after we loaded the car we hiked across the east meadow and into the woods to one of the property’s most interesting destinations: a 1947 Buick that sat among the rows of trees like a huge, sad, wrecked beetle, quietly rusting on a bed of pine needles, its carcass riddled with bullet holes by hunters. (more…)